


Occupational Hazards

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comic), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick is the kind of person who taunts criminally minded magic users.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Occupational Hazards

**Author's Note:**

> This is because I have [terrible ideas](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/24091805747/im-trying-really-hard-not-to-picture-text-from). I'm picturing Dick as a [Border Collie/Border Collie mix](http://tinypic.com/r/25ph09d/6) in this.

There's the question of how (magic), and why (Dick is the kind of person who taunts criminally minded magic users), and, for Tim in particular, why _him_ (because Dick has actual puppy eyes now and Bruce _is_ the weakest link). There are other, more important questions, like can they break the spell (no), is it permanent (thankfully no, it should wear off on its own), how long will this last (hours or days or weeks, no one can come to an agreement on that). Even more, there are questions no one thought to ask but probably should have.

"I don't understand how you're doing this." 

Because Dick can communicate with them. 

When they realized that Dick was still Dick, still _in there_ , despite his current form, Tim knows he wasn't the only to wonder what kind of system they'd have to implement to communicate with him. One bark for "yes", two for "no", maybe? (Tim absolutely did not think about Christopher Pike and his chair at the time, nor did he think about Dick trying to operate Pike's chair with his paws.) Out of all the ways Dick would be able to communicate with them, Tim knows no one expected this. Dick can't talk, but he can send text messages. _Text messages_.

_Why are you having such a hard time with this?_

Tim looks up from his phone at Dick, who is curled up an armchair, his cellphone propped up on his paws. Dick looks back at him, head cocked to one side, ears pricked forward. "You're a _dog_ , Dick. Generally speaking, dogs aren't known to possess opposable thumbs." Or have the ability to read, but Dick didn't start out life as a dog, so there's that. (Tim doesn't really know how to rationalize this one, so he's going to stop now.)

The message notification on Tim's phone goes off, some insipid pop song Dick had programmed in before his unfortunate accident. Karma at work, maybe, delivering justice through a seriously unstable magic user and Dick's big mouth.

_Not true, Timmy_. Dick smiles a doggy smile at Tim and holds out one of his front legs, waving it in the air at Tim. _Check it out._

Tim sighs. "Those are dew claws, Dick." Another message, and Tim still doesn't know how Dick's doing that because he never uses his paws, dew claws or not.

_Magic!_

“That doesn't make sense!” Except for how it does, because _magic_. Tim kind of hates it at times. Times like now, for instance.

Dick stares at him for a long moment, and then he gives Tim the dog equivalent of a smirk.

_Jeaaaalous!_ , Tim's phone says, a moment later. Mockingly.

Tim levels a flatly unimpressed look at Dick. "You've got me. I always dreamed of being able to lick my own balls, and now here you are flaunting the fact that you can in my face. Damn you."

Dick barks, _laughing_ , Tim realizes, his tongue lolling out in a big doggy grin, tail wagging. _Don't knock it until you're tried it, Timmy. It's_ fantastic.

Tim stares at Dick. Which. Okay, it's Dick. He should expect these kinds of things from him. "Oh my God," he says. " _Oh my God_."

Dick continues grinning at him like maybe being a dog isn't actually that bad and just. _Whywhywhy_.


	2. Second Time Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was that time Tim came home [to this waiting for him](http://tinypic.com/r/1el8jn/6).

Tim knows the moment he sees them. 

“I don't. _Why do you do this to me_?” Okay, so maybe a little melodramatic, but. But Dick's lying on his belly with, head on the ground. He's giving Tim the saddest puppy dog eyes Tim has ever seen, hands down. The ball of fur and claws and sharp little teeth next to him can only be one person (it's in the way he glares, really, no one else does it quite the way he does), and Tim honestly thought he was past this part of his life, but no. Nothing is ever that easy.

Damian glares at Tim, tiny and puffed up and clearly as thrilled with this situation as Tim is. Dick looks. Well, like Dick, only in dog form.

“I know you're an idiot,” Tim says, looking at Dick. “But Damian should know - “ Wait. No. He actually doesn't know better. He's _Damian_ , and really, it's a miracle something like this hasn't happened sooner.

“Bruce and the others don't know yet, do they?” Apparently, Tim's the one who gets to break the news to Bruce that two of his sons have been turned into animals (one for a second time, and please don't let there be a third), like that makes sense in their world. 

Dick looks at him, all soulful puppy dog eyes and hopeful tail wag. Damian bares his tiny little fangs at Tim, as if he couldn't fit into the palm of Tim's hand. Tim looks at them like their sole reason for being is to make his life miserable.

“Fine. Whatever. It's not like I can leave you two to fend for yourselves, can I?” Not without having to explain to Bruce why there were reports of vigilante animals (maybe they could team up with Titus and Krypto) running loose in the city, at any rate. Tim sighs, wonders what his life has come to as he unlocks the front door to his apartment and holds it open for his guests.

Dick wags his tail and gets to his feet, pausing only to grab Damian by the scruff of his neck before trotting into Tim's apartment, Damian yowling his protest all the way.

“Oh my God,” Tim mutters, following them in. “What did I do to deserve this?” As if in answer, Rebecca Black starts singing, muffled by the fabric of his coat and just. Whatever it was he did, it must have been _awful_.


	3. A Walk in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's bored," Jason says, aiming for reasonable and landing somewhere around smug asshole as he holds up his phone. "He started texting _me_." Jason frowns. “How's he doing that, anyway?”

Tim glances at Jason, leaning against the trunk of a tree, smirk firmly in place. "No, Jason, no."

A small black-furred head pops out of Jason's pocket, tiny eyes narrowed. A challenge, Tim knows. A stupid, stupid challenge.

"Not a good idea, no." The worst, really, because it's not like Dick doesn't have people fawning over him anyway, and this – Dick as a dog is trouble. Asking for more the moment they get him out there doing impossible stunts catching Frisbees because he's a showoff in any form.

"He's bored," Jason says, aiming for reasonable and landing somewhere around smug asshole as he holds up his phone. "He started texting _me_." Jason frowns. “How's he doing that, anyway?”

Tim sighs because that's something he desperately wants, needs, to know, and just saying “magic” isn't cutting it for him. He looks down at Dick, smiling a doggy smile up at him like he has no idea what the problem is, like he's not the reason Tim's probably developing an ulcer _right now_. "You look stupid," Tim says, more out of some bizarre form of self-defense than anything else.

Dick snorts, shaking his head and calling attention to the blue bandana tied around his neck. Jason's doing, and Tim honestly regrets asking him to keep Dick and Damian out of trouble while he had to deal with tedious business meetings. Tim's message notification sound, and when he reads the message he 

_I'm bored._ Sad puppy dog eyes. More of Rebecca Black and her inability to choose a seat from his phone. _Bored, Tim. Boooored._

The thing about Dick's current form is that Tim's not entirely sure if Dick's behavior hinges on the particular breed of dog he is, or just Dick in general. One thing hasn't changed, however, and that's his ability to utilize whatever resources he has available to him, such as the fact that he seems to be a very sweet, lovable dog when in fact he is pretty much full of evil.

"That's why we're here, Dick," Tim explains, trying to hold on to the last vestiges of his patience. "Jason and I are taking you for your walkies." It hurts, a little, to use the word, but it's worth it for the looks on Jason and Damian's faces. 

Dick presses against Tim's legs and _whines_ , like Tim is the worst person in the world, actively working against any happiness Dick might hope for. Perhaps even delighting in doing so, he's such a terrible person. In Tim's periphery he's aware of several things: several passersby giving him dirty looks, a few of them pulling their phones out to either take video of his cruel treatment of Dick or call the police, Tim's not sure. Jason laughing so hard he'd probably fall over if he wasn't using the tree for support, and Damian's smug little kitten smirk.

"Fine! Fine!" Tim says, louder than he means to, because a few of the people watching this horrible scene unfold move closer, clearly intending to intervene should things escalate further. 

Dick barks happily, bouncing to his feet and prancing around Tim as he heads towards an area with more open space. Enough to throw the damn Frisbee for Dick as much as his black heart desires.

"Don't think you're getting out of this, Jason," Tim calls over his shoulder to get a little of his own back. "He's your dog too."

More barking from Dick, who zooms back to Jason and grabs the sleeve of his coat to tug him along, eyes full of mischief because this is Dick and he's _enjoying_ this, forgetting that he's not going to be a dog forever and there will be retribution headed his way when things are back to what passes for normal in their lives.

Damian hisses, clawing his way out of Jason's pocket and up to his shoulder, fur puffed up as he glares down at Dick.

“Dammit, Dick, knock it off!” Jason mutters, trying to pull his sleeve free. He actually lifts Dick off the ground, which just makes him dig in harder, and this is going nowhere good fast. “Let go, idiot!”

“Dick! Dick, look! Frisbee!” Tim grits through a pained smile, waving the bright yellow Frisbee at Dick. “Come on, Dick, get the Frisbee!” Tim throws it as hard as he can, breathing a sigh of relief when Dick lets go of Jason's sleeve and tears off after the Frisbee.

“I'm going to kill him,” Jason growls, checking his sleeve for damage. “I know I promised Bruce I wouldn't, but the little shit's asking for it.”

Tim shrugs, bracing himself for impact when he sees Dick racing back towards them. “He'll understand,” he says, because Bruce actually might. Dick drops the Frisbee and jumps on him, barking and making happy little dog noises, tail wagging like mad. Tim flails for balance, _feels_ Jason's hand on his shoulder overbalancing him, and he goes down, Dick's paws heavy on his chest.

Tim brings his hands up to cover his face when Dick takes advantage and starts licking him (ugh, _God_ ) while Jason laughs like the demented bastard he is. Dick's not letting him get up any time soon, and he knows Jason's not going to help, so Tim starts planning future revenge. Payback, when it comes, will be sweet.


	4. If Lost, Return To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they get to the back of the store Jason stops, puts a hand to his mouth and says, with badly feigned surprise, "Oh, hey, look at this. A pet tag machine."

The first time Dick was magically transformed into a dog (and how many people can say that), Dick had deigned to wear a collar and leash for appearances sake. They hadn't known at the time how long it would be before they could turn him back (they don't know now, either), Tim had insisted on a pet tag, just in case. He'd known at the time Dick was humoring him, and really, the odds against something happening were - Okay, no, it had been a good idea because there was no knowing in the kind of life they lived. 

Now, though. They know a little what to expect, what to do, and trip to the pet store seems to be part of that. Tim's a little worried about whatever is about to happen. 

Jason's walking ahead of them with Damian riding on his shoulder, partially hidden by the collar of Jason's jacket. Tim and Dick are trailing along behind them, stopping occasionally when Dick finds something of interest, at which point Dick usually sends Tim a text to share whatever thoughts he might have. 

_Oooh, treats._ Dick noses at the various bins with rawhide chews and squeaky toys, tail wagging as he looks at Tim hopefully. Tim isn't entirely sure if Dick's joking or not, but he puts a rawhide bone in the shopping basket anyway. 

"You know Alfred sent food, right?" The fact that Alfred cares enough to make sure they don't starve to death after everything all of them have put him through over the years speaks volumes about the man. It says more about Jason, however, that he'd actually made a believable case for getting pet food for Dick and Damian because their sense of taste has changed, and moreover, human food isn't the best thing for them in their current forms. 

Jason shrugs, slow, careful because Damian has sharp little claws he's not hesitant to use. "Not really the point, baby bird."

Tim shares a look with Dick. No, no it's not, Tim's honestly surprised Damian hasn't twigged to the fact Jason has an ulterior motive in mind yet. When they get to the back of the store Jason stops, puts a hand to his mouth and says, with badly feigned surprise, "Oh, hey, look at this. A pet tag machine."

Tim winces, looks down at Dick and [the S-shield engraved with Dick's name and Tim's phone number](http://www.etsy.com/listing/95584779/superman-pet-tag?ref=sr_gallery_1&ga_search_query=superman+pet+tag&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=handmade) on his collar. It's _Gotham_ , Dick's a Bat, and he'd still chosen that over the Bat emblem pet tag. In retrospect, that may have been a contributing factor to Bruce foisting Dick and Damian off on Jason and him instead of letting them stay at the manor.

"Jason - "

"Oh, and what's this? [A fancy little princess tag](http://www.etsy.com/listing/86801110/handpainted-dog-cat-pet-crystal-princess?ref=sr_gallery_39&ga_search_query=princess+pet+tag&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=ZZ&ga_min=0&ga_max=0&ga_search_type=handmade) for a fancy little princess." The way Jason says it leads Tim to believe he's still not over the flea bath debacle, which is understandable. The scratches are still healing.

Damian growls, low and warning on Jason's shoulder. Tim can tell from the way Jason's grinning that Damian's using his claws to the best of his ability but getting Damian back comes first. "Come on, princess," Jason says, and he sounds suitably concerned for someone smirking as widely as he is. "Whatever would we do if you got lost?"

Tim groans and tries to pretend he can't feel Dick leaning against his leg and clearly laughing himself sick on the inside. "Seriously," Tim tries. "He's going to kill you, Jason. Kill you in your sleep." It'll be a bit of a challenge, because kittens aren't really known for their murderous abilities. (Most kittens aren't Damian, however, and there's a high probability he will find a way to kill Jason given enough incentive. Forcing him to wear a sparkly, jewel encrusted pet tag shaped like a princess' crown may classify as such.)

"Yeah," Jason says, eying Damian, all but daring him to leap for his eyes. "I'm shaking in my boots here."

Damian puffs up, still growling, clearly not about to back down. Tim looks down at Dick who's watching Jason and Damian like they're the best show around, and just. "Alright, fine," Tim mutters, moving past Jason to look at the various tag designs. 

There are at least [three seperate](http://www.etsy.com/listing/87526271/batman-dog-id-tag?ref=pr_shop) [variants of](http://www.etsy.com/listing/53506731/bat-dog-pet-tag?ref=v1_other_2) [the Bat symbol](http://www.etsy.com/listing/99258299/batman-id-tag?ref=sr_gallery_5&ga_search_query=batman+pet+tag&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_search_type=handmade) ( _Gotham_ ). A quick glance at Jason lets Tim know that, _no_ , there is no way in hell Jason is going to let Damian have one of those, not when he has so many other...delightful options available. (Tim almost, almost feels bad for Damian.) 

"Okay, okay, what about this one?" Tim points to something he thinks they might be able to agree on, even though he has the feeling he's going to need to watch his back around Damian once he gets back to normal. Normal-ish.

Jason _hmms_ , rubs his chin like he's actually thinking about it, and locks eyes with Damian. "What about it, princess?" It's clear from his tone of voice that Jason isn't about to back down, not on this, and Damian.

Damian sniffs, looks away from the machine towards the pet collars and back to Jason. Negotiation, in a way, Tim knows. 

Jason cocks his head to the side, then slowly, smiles. "You've got yourself a deal, princess."

Tim rolls his eyes and nudges Dick, who's pressed up against him, paws on the edge of the machine to get a look at the offerings available. "No," he says. "You already have one."

Dick snorts, and drops back on on all fours, padding after Jason and Damian to look at collars. Tim sighs and follows after him.

In the end, Tim's not really sure who wins this particular skirmish. Damian selects a simple black collar with a silver buckle, and Jason chooses the pet tag Tim had suggested. [Circular in shape, it's a mix of brass and nickel with a crown above Damian's name.](http://www.etsy.com/listing/96146731/little-princess-custom-cat-or-dog-tag?ref=sr_gallery_29&ga_search_query=princess+pet+tag&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_page=1&ga_search_type=handmade) The effect is less Disney princess and more lord of all he surveys, but as long as it keeps them from killing each other (with Tim present, at least), Tim's happy. Or, no. Not happy, but. Relieved. Relieved is probably the word he's looking for.


	5. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim have been patrolling, and Dick and Damian can't go with them, not the way they are, and Dick's feeling. Worried. Guilty, because Jason and Tim didn't exactly come away from last night's patrol completely unscathed. (Even Damian had shown concern, even though he would never consider it as such.)

This is the thing, really. Tim's life isn't - hasn't ever really - been normal. Things happen. Strange, bizarre things. Things that defy all known laws of physics _and_ magic, because _Tim's life_. Dick getting a bottled water out of the refrigerator shouldn't really be classified as odd, or weird, except for how it's Dick, and he's currently a dog, and. Yes. Unusual barely begins to cover it.

"We should make a video of this, send it in to one of those shows." Jason grins at Tim. "Those suckers love this kind of shit."

Tim sighs, and looks down as Dick pads over to him, a decidedly pleased look to him as he carries the bottled water in his mouth. "You don't have to do that, you know," Tim points out. "I just sprained my wrist, my legs aren't broken."

Dick whines, pressing the bottle into Tim's midsection, and then Carly Rae Jepsen starts in on wishes and wells . (Tim is going to kill his brothers, see if he doesn't. Bad enough that Dick sought out the worst in music to torture Tim with, but Jason. Okay, _Jason_.)

_Just take it, okay?_

Jason and Tim have been patrolling, and Dick and Damian can't go with them, not the way they are, and Dick's feeling. Worried. Guilty, because Jason and Tim didn't exactly come away from last night's patrol completely unscathed. (Even Damian had shown concern, even though he would never consider it as such.)

"Thanks, Dick." Tim scratches his ears, smiling when Dick's tail wags happily. Dick barks once, then jumps up on the couch next to Tim, fussing a little before settling down, chin resting on Tim's knee. Tim raises an eyebrow, but dutifully pets him, fingers seeking out the itchy spots Dick directs him to via text with Carly Rae Jepsen being a little bit of a creeper. 

_Warmer, warmer. Red hot!_ , and _Cold, colder, not even in the right hemisphere,_ and _Oh, yeah, that's the spot. Thanks, Timmy._

Damian lets out a yowl of pure fury and leaps at the far wall, claws scrabbling madly as he chases the bright red light of the laser scope in Jason's hands. In theory, Jason had "confiscated" the laser scope from the weapons deal he and Tim had put a stop to, the same one that had ended in a sprained wrist for Tim and a line of stitches down Jason's side. Not their best work, no, but there were a good deal less guns out on the streets of Gotham, and really, that was the important thing.

"Jason." Jason could be out on patrol, could be out busting heads or fighting crime, depending on who you ask, but. ( _For fuck's sake, can't a guy take a night off every once in a while? What are you, my mom? Also, I have it on good authority that you know damn well how much having stitches hurts, so shut up about it already. Christ._ ) 

Incidentally, Jason's taking advantage of the new senses and instincts Damian has to contend with by "introducing" him to joys and wonders of, not a laser pointer, but laser scope, which. Okay, works out to be about the same anyway, going by how insane it seems to making Damian. (Jason had actually started with an iPad Jason had also liberated from the weapons dealers, _It's not like they can use it where they're going, baby bird_ , with _Fruit Ninja_ set on Zen, which had been it's own brand of quality entertainment.)

Speaking of which, Damian is _pissed_. He can handle his new body well enough, can control it, but. Apparently little red dots aren't just the mortal enemy of cats everywhere as Damian appears to have declared war on them. (Damian claims it's excellent training, that it allows him to better learn his new body's ability and limitations, but really. He's having fun.) 

Tim shakes his head, _his life_ , and goes back to reading his book. Things are peaceful enough, even with Damian's frustrated growling and occasional hissing and Jason's demented laughter when Damian misjudges distances or his stopping power and slides (crashes) into things. (Walls, chairs, everything.)

Dick's acting like it's nothing overly interesting, only. Only he's _watching_. Eyes darting to wherever Jason aims the laser scope, muscles tensing, like he's trying not to give into the urge to give chase. After a few minutes he climbs off Tim and. Sort of eases his way closer to Jason and Damian. Subtle, only not.

Tim looks at Jason, who is watching Dick, eyes narrowed. 

"Oh, no." Tim feels his own eyes narrow because he _knows_ that look. "You want to do that, fine. Just not in here, there's not enough room." 

Jason cocks his head to the side, as if he's thinking about it. Weighing the pros and cons of whether or not he wants to get into it with Tim, and then he _smirks_ , decision made. Looks at Damian who is sitting primly, tail wrapped around his feet. Looks at Dick, whose ears are pricked forward. Looks at Tim, who is, regrettably, well acquainted with that look as well. 

"Jason - "

Jason grins, says, "Sorry, baby bird," with no sincerity at all, and aims the laser scope at Tim, little red dot landing square in the center of his chest. 

Dick barks, and then he's in motion, a little black ball of fur on his tail, both of them headed straight for Tim. "Jason you bastard!" Tim throws his book over the back of the couch and holds his injured wrist out of the way moments before Dick and Damian reach him, tiny pinpricks of pain from Damian's claws as he scrambles up Tim's legs, the solid, reassuring weight of Dick as they pile on him, Jason cackling madly all the while. 

"I hate you so much!" Tim yells, pinned under Dick and Damian as they make themselves comfortable. Damian's silent warning to _hold still_ conveyed via his claws, while Dick nudges and pushes until Tim sighs and gives in. "I hate you all." 

Damian sniffs delicately, as if it means nothing to him (it doesn't), and Dick leans in to lick his face, unconcerned. Tim glares at Jason when he walks over to survey his handiwork. 

"Happy?" Tim asks, but there's no heat in it.

Jason smiles, carefully easing himself down on the small section of unoccupied couch, grabbing the TV remote before leaning back and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Oh, very. Thanks for asking." 

Tim rolls his eyes, looks down at the top of Dick's head pillowed on his chest, and Damian curled up in a ball by Tim's knee. Jason channel surfs until he finds something interesting (improbable explosions and badly choreographed fight scenes) and settles back, absently petting Damian who gives them both disgruntled looks when he starts purring, clearly against his will.

"Shut it," Jason says, tapping Damian's nose with a finger before he can voice his displeasure at the way his body betrays his thoughts. "Just. Don't."

Eloquent as ever, Tim thinks, smirks, when Jason sends him a warning look. "You, too, baby bird. Shut it and watch the damn movie. It's a cinematic classic."

It's _Steven Seagal_.

" _Cinematic classic_ ," Jason grits out between clenched teeth. "So shut up and enjoy it, or I'll call Batman on your ass."

Tim shares a look with Dick, but chooses to hold his peace. He doubts Bruce would have much to say about this, but. It's watching bad movies with his brothers, and that's not something that happens all that often. (Almost never.) He might as well, if not enjoy it ( _Steven Seagal_ ), then make the most of it.


	6. Everything in Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not okay. Not okay at all. As if in agreement, the little duckling huddled close to Tim lets out a sad little quack of agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/24417456232/duckling-follows-cat).

This is not okay. Not okay at all. As if in agreement, the little duckling huddled close to Tim lets out a sad little quack of agreement. Tim tilts his head to side, considers the duckling - small, fluffy and ridiculously adorable. It had been a fluke, really, that Tim had stumbled across it in the first place. Tim doesn't even know what a duckling would be doing in the heart of Gotham, let alone stuck in a drainage pipe, but.

It's Gotham. 

Strange happenings aren't unusual, and one misplaced duckling is no more odd than anything else Tim's seen. And maybe Tim should have had larger problems on his mind than rescuing the duckling from what could have been an unpleasant ending after his unexpected run-in with Dick and Damian's magic using friend, but. 

The duckling quacks again, and Tim. Doesn't quite smile, can't actually, but it's all the same in the end. The duckling shakes its head and shifts its feet, grumbling to itself in its own duck fashion

Tim sneezes as a fat water droplet falls through the roof their shelter - nothing more than a jumble of cardboard boxes pushed together - lands on his nose, startling the duckling. Tim pulls back, out of range of its wings as it flaps them, letting out angry sounding noises, and sighs, tip of his tail twitching. He missed his last check-in, which means Jason has to be looking for him. 

Tim's Red Robin suit is hidden a few feet away. He'd dragged it as far as he could into the alley, his new body too small to do much more than that, and covered it with pieces of cardboard and whatever else he could find. He knows the trackers in the suit are still active, although he's worried about the bio-sensors. He's not in the suit, and even if he was, he's not human anymore.

He's not human anymore, and he's horrifyingly vulnerable in this body, natural weapons aside. He's starting to understand, _really_ understand, how Dick and Damian must have felt in the beginning, how they must still feel, even knowing they're eventually going to get their normal bodies back. It's too early to know for sure with him, and maybe if he'd let himself, he'd be having a nice little freak-out about that, but. The odds are in his favor, the magic user is a virtual unknown, true, but Zatanna had said that he was weak, untrained. That his spell - curse - had worked at all was a miracle. (God only knows what he'd be able to do with any sort of training, which is why Jason and Tim had been looking for him, trying to stop him now, before he could do any more harm, and, oh, look how that turned out.)

The duckling nudges Tim's side with its beak, breaking him out of his thoughts. Tim refocuses, finds the duckling looking at him curiously, head tipped to the side. _Sorry, little guy,_ he thinks, curling a paw around it to pull it closer. _I'm over-thinking things again._

The duckling wiggles, rearranging itself more comfortably, letting out a content little quack as Tim settles in to wait for Jason.

********

"Jesus Christ, baby bird. You too?" 

**********

The good news is that Jason managed to catch the magic user, some stupid kid messing with things better left alone, which was what had taken Jason so long to find him. The bad news is, the stupid kid doesn't know how to turn them back, so they have to wait for the spells to wear off on their own. (Not so different from what they'd discovered before, but it's still disheartening.)

Dick and Damian don't appear to be concerned about that too much, and while the whole thing is highly unpleasant, it's not unbearable. Except.

Tim is actually going to kill Jason. 

Jason grins at the look Tim gives him, but doesn't stop recording, oh, no. Of course not, why would he do that?

Dick is watching from the relative safety of the couch, likewise amused but smart enough not to try to annoy Tim. (Yet. Tim knows that's going to change soon enough.) Damian's perched on the back of the couch, tail flicking back and forth as Tim turns to leave, the duckling sticking close to him, getting underfoot (underpaw?), clearly ill at ease in its new surroundings and their audience.

 _Get your affairs in order while you can, Jason. I'm not going to forget this._ Tim texts Jason, still not really sure how he does it, but it makes leveling threats so much easier.

Jason laughs, because he has no idea who he's messing with. (Dick's told him, a little, but Jason _doesn't know_ , which is to Tim's advantage in this situation.) He smirks, waggling his phone at Tim. "Seriously. _America's Funniest Home Videos_ is going to _love_ this."


	7. In a Cat's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a cat is far different from anything Tim was expecting. (To be honest, it's not as though he really thought about the matter, because really, who would?)

Being a cat is far different from anything Tim was expecting. (To be honest, it's not as though he really thought about the matter, because really, who would?) 

Tim's smaller in this form, more vulnerable, but vulnerable doesn't equal helpless. He has sharper teeth, and claws instead of blunt nails. He's faster and smaller and so much more agile. Dangerous still, in the right circumstances. 

"Dammit baby bird, watch the claws!"

Tim remembers, fuzzily, someone telling him as a child that the reason cats and kittens knead had something to do with them being bakers in a past life. (Even then he knew it for a lie, but it's always stuck with him for some reason.)

"Tim!"

When Tim meows, there's a definite warble in it. When he purrs, it's low, quiet. He opens his eyes and looks up at Jason. Tim's curled up in his lap, paws on his thighs, and, oh, Jason's jeans aren't quite thick enough for Tim's claws.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, baby bird?" Jason asks, eyes narrowing.

Tim tips his up head and meows, a slight up-tilt to it towards the end. It's Jason's fault he took Tim's seat, and maybe if he hadn't looked so warm and comfortable - it's possible Tim isn't quite fighting his new instincts as hard as he could. 

"Pushy bastard," Jason mutters, but doesn't stop petting him, so. Minor victory.

 

********

 

There's a movie on, Jason lounging on the couch with Tim comfortably perched on the back of it next to his head. Dick is curled up on the other end of the couch, mostly asleep with Damian between his front legs. Damian looks tiny and sulky and angry (his default) pressed up against Dick's chest, but he also isn't trying to get away. 

"This is disgustingly domestic," Jason says, turning his head to look at Tim.

Tim meows in agreement. It really is. Moments like these are few and far between for people like them, and all the more precious for it. 

Jason sighs, deeply put upon, and opens his arms as Tim slides off the back of the couch and into his lap, purring as Jason runs a hand down his back. 

 

********

 

Jason's late. Jason's late, and Tim has had a bad feeling all night. Dick's scrabbling at the door, whining and barking in frustration because Jason's late and they aren't out there, can't help him if he runs into trouble. (It's Gotham, even if they're not looking for trouble it finds them.)

Tim looks at the kitchen window, with the latch that never locks properly. Too small for Dick to fit through, and there's no possible way for Tim to get the front door open with as many locks that have been added to it. Back to where Dick runs to the bedroom that has a window that _does_ lock properly. Tim lets out a loud yowl, hopping up on the kitchen counter where he bats Dick's phone down to him when he runs over, Damian a tiny black shadow behind him.

They can't talk like this, but Tim can see the moment Dick understands, sending a text to Jason. One minute passes without a reply, tension mounting. Then two, then three, and so on. There's every possibility Jason simply turned his phone off for patrol for one reason or other, except that Tim knows for a fact Jason hasn't from the moment he found out about Dick and Damian, angry grumbling aside.

When fifteen minutes go by without a response, Dick rears up, front paws on the edge of the counter Tim's sitting on, and _looks_ at Tim.

Tim's ears go back, uneasy. 

Dick whines, worried, they're all worried, and Tim meows. Gets to his feet and jumps the small distance to the window, paws at the latch until it moves, shoves at the window until it opens enough for him to slip through. Pauses to look back and sees Dick focused on his phone. Contacting Barbara or Bruce, someone who will be able to do what they can't. Damian sits at his side, perfectly still. (Too small for this, and oh, how much he must hate that.)

Tim meows, soft, and then he's gone. Moving along the narrow ledge just under the window, small leap to the fire escape and then up, and, up, and up until he reaches the roof. He takes a moment to orient himself, and then he strikes out towards Jason's usual patrol route. 

Everything's quiet, unnaturally so for Gotham at this time of night. Tim sticks to the shadows where he can, uses his new senses to the best of his ability. Gotham _stinks_ , of rot and decay, desperation and sorrow. He has Jason's scent imprinted in his mind, follows faint traces of it over rooftops and down dark alleys, until he hears him. Loud and angry, _furious_.

Tim crawls under a car resting on cinder blocks, gutted, no more than a skeleton rotting away. Slinks between overturned garbage cans and sees Jason facing off against a pair of thugs, more flung around him in varying positions, bloodied and broken, some groaning softly.

"Stupid sons of bitches," Jason snarls, favoring his side. "You think you can take me down?" Jason's guns are gone, bullets spent. He's down to a knife and metal pipe, one end blood spattered. 

Tim moves, dark and silent, gaining height by way of a broken drain pipe to move into a better position to help, well aware of his limitations. Tim's smaller in this form, more vulnerable, but vulnerable doesn't equal helpless. He has sharper teeth, and claws instead of blunt nails. He's faster and smaller and so much more agile. Dangerous still, in the right circumstances.

One of the thugs goes after Jason, distraction, but Jason's injured, and once he takes that one down, he can't move fast enough when the other attacks, knife in hand.

Tim leaps for him, claws extended, and hits the back of his head, staggering him just enough, just enough. The thug screams, high and panicked, grabbing at Tim who yowls, claws raking the man's neck and back before jumping clear. Lands on nimble feet and turns, ready to attack again, only for Jason to step in to drop the thug with a swing of the pipe.

Jason stands there for a moment longer, breathing hard, and then slowly turns to face Tim.

"The fuck do you think you're doing, baby bird?"

Tim blinks at him, tip of his tail twitching. 

"You." Jason stops, _glares_. "Did it look like I needed your help?"

Tim's eyes narrow. Growls. 

Jason stares at him. "Tell me the others didn't follow you."

Tim walks past him to nose at one of the downed thugs, lips peeling off his teeth when he scents what must have gotten Jason out here in the first place. Looks back up at Jason who rubs a hand over his face.

"Jesus, baby bird, what? You think I was going to let this go? They're dealing on _my turf_."

Tim's ears go back, deeply, deeply unimpressed and severely annoyed. 

Jason stares at him. "Fucking what, you want I should get help on this? From who?" 

Tim cocks his head to the side, questioning.

Jason. Jason doesn't meet his eyes, looks away. "I've got this, baby bird, no reason to bring anyone else in."

Oh, and Tim is supposed to believe that based on how well Jason was "handling" it before Tim found him? 

"Shut up." Jason mutters. "Jesus, like I'm not crazy enough, now I'm having an argument with a fucking _cat_."

Tim walks back over to Jason, circling around him and trying to assess how badly he's hurt. Jason lets him, sighing heavily, as if Tim's the ridiculously unreasonable one here. 

"I'm _fine_ , baby bird. Bastards barely touched me."

Except for how they did, as evidenced by the way Jason's unconsciously curled a little around his ribs. The cuts hidden by Jason's clothes that Tim might not be able to see, but can damn well smell.

"Look - "

Tim _growls_ , paw flashing out towards Jason's leg, claws out. Warning.

"Jesus, the hell is wrong with you?" Jason demands, jerking back. Peers down at Tim. "Are you going to start foaming at the mouth now?"

Tim lets go, turns to leave. Jason trailing after him, grumbling under his breath. He stops to glare down at Tim, looking like he wants to say something, and then shakes his head before limping past. Tim waits until he's a few feet ahead, and looks back, up. Sees the edge of a black cape disappearing over the lip of the roof and knows someone will be at the apartment to check Jason over when they get back.

"What are you waiting for, a fucking invitation?" Jason yells, annoyed, now, which.

Tim gives himself a shake, glances at the unconscious bodies strewn around the alley one last time as he passes them. Jason's waiting a few buildings down, scowling and looking surly ( _his_ default). Tim presses against his legs as he goes by, smiling to himself at Jason's exasperated mutter. "You'd think I couldn't look after myself, the way you guys act."

Tim looks back at him, eyes narrowed slightly because, well, _no_.

"...Seriously, shut up," Jason snaps, tone softening at the end, sounding almost fond. "Fucking cat."


	8. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about ducklings is that they're, and no offense meant, certainly, but they aren't really all that bright.

The thing about ducklings is that they're, and no offense meant, certainly, but they aren't really all that bright. (Tim's sure they'll grow out of it, because ducklings.) And maybe he shouldn't consider evading a duckling to be some kind of achievement, but really? It kind of _is_. A quick dash across the room, leap up onto the couch and over Jason watching television to the other end of the couch.

"Really?"Jason asks, looking back the way Tim came at the sound of aggravated quacking. “You're running away from a duckling. Some legendary terror of the night you are.”

Jason's supposed to be convalescing, letting his ribs heal because Jason is an _idiot_. He's been a. Well, not a good sport about it, but he hasn't thrown anything or broken anything (impressive, considering he's spent the last few days pent up with Dick, Tim, and Damian, plus a duckling).

Tim growls once, in warning, then jumps to the back of the couch. A better vantage point to watch for what the duckling intends to do next. It's fiendishly clever and resourceful. For a duckling. 

Jason shakes his head at Tim, like Tim's _heartless_ , and _hey_ , and scoops the duckling up and depositing it on the couch cushion next to him. “There you go, little guy,” he says, patting its head lightly. "You're going to make him cry, baby bird, and - shit. He probably thinks I'm talking about him, doesn't he?" 

Tim cocks his head to the side, watching the duckling trying to climb over Jason's leg and failing because Jason is sort of freakishly big, and it's a duckling. (Important to remember, as if the fluffy down and quacking weren't a dead giveaway.)

Tim looks at Jason, who sighs, and says, "Baby bird." Flat, no inflection, nothing to for the duckling to clue into, but. The duckling pauses in its quest to get to Tim, looks at Jason and quacks expectantly, like, _What?_

"Son of a bitch," Jason mutters. Stares at the duckling, who is pecking at the seam of his jeans in irritation. "Baby bird." Again the duckling stops what it's doing and looks at Jason, but this time the quack is annoyed. "Your kid's a brat," Jason says to Tim, although he's still watching the duckling. "Like mother, like son, right?"

Tim's eyes narrow. Hilarious.

Dick comes tearing into the room and skids to a stop in front of the television, laughing like an idiot. (Dick turned back to his usual form the not too long ago, which means it's only a matter of time before Damian and Tim do to.) 

There's a furious yowl, and Damian runs into the room, growling and snarling as he leaps at Dick, claws out, ready to maim.

Dick _laughs_ , steps to the side and snatches Damian out of the air with one hand. “Hey, Little D,” he says, grinning so wide it hurts _Tim's_ face. “You're not mad at me, are you?”

Damian is, at the moment, struggling in Dick's grip, hissing and snarling and trying get at him with his tiny, tiny claws. So, probably. (It's Damian, these things are hard to tell sometimes.)

“Hey!” Jason yells, aiming a throw cushion at Dick. “Take that shit out of here, idiots. You're upsetting Junior.”

Dick goes still, and even Damian lets up on his tiny little fit of fury and rage to look at Jason because Jason is. Well, a loon. 

“'Junior'?” Dick asks, carefully. “Who - “

The duckling chooses that moment to quack, a very angry sounding noise from a very angry little duckling.

“Ah,” Dick says delicately, because _crazy_. He shares a look with Damian, and then hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, gotta go.” He smiles, holding Damian up and making him wave to them with one of his paws. “Say goodbye, Damian.”

Damian hisses, yanking his paw free and twists free of Dick's grip. Lets out the kitten equivalent of a battle cry and runs up Dick's arm to perch on top of Dick's head. (Advantage Damian.)

“Nice one,” Jason says approvingly. 

Tim chimes in with a meow, both of them watching Dick who is holding very, very still. Even the duckling is watching, absolutely enthralled.

“Uh, Damian - “

Damian growls, and does something that has Dick cringing. “Ow, hey, no!” Dick says, hands hovering at waist level, helpless. If he makes a grab for Damian now, Damian will make him regret it. If he leaves him there...Damian will still make him regret it, but he'll probably make it quick.

“Hey, Dickie-bird,” Jason calls out, casual, like a passing thought. 

“I hope you have some helpful advice for me, Jason,” Dick says. 

Jason bobbles his head. “More or less.” Grins. “Mostly though, take demon kitten and get the hell out.” Pauses, _smirks_. “You're interrupting duckling bonding time.”

This time _Tim_ hisses, startling the duckling while Dick. Something happens to Dick's face that looks almost painful, the way he's trying desperately not to laugh with Damian and his tiny - _sharp_ \- claws on his head.

“I''ll uh. _We'll_ just leave you guys alone, yeah?” Dick says, looking like he's _dying_ as he leaves, Damian on his head looking very much like royalty, little chest puffed out.

There's a long moment of silence. Broken by a small, frustrated quack as the duckling tries and fails (again) to get over Jason's legs to Tim.

Tim drops onto the couch cushion and takes great care to walk over Jason's legs, claws popped just enough that Jason hisses, body tensing as he swears under his breath, and stops in front of the duckling. It quacks happily, flapping its wings and doing a little dance of happiness, and. Tim kind of feels like a jerk for trying to avoid it, but.

“Awww,” Jason says, the only warning before there's a bright flash and the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter. “Now there's a picture for the family album. It warms my heart.”

Tim takes a swipe at Jason, but his claws aren't out, and Jason just _laughs_ , hand darting in to scratch Tim's ears before he can react. 

“Face it, baby – “

The duckling quacks.

“Er, Tim. You like Junior.” Pause. “You loooove him.” and then Jason cracks up, wincing and making little pained noises thanks to some broken ribs - but he doesn't stop laughing he's an undeniable idiot.

Tim growls, but then the duckling – Junior – is crowding him, quacking happily, little wings fluttering, and. What is he supposed to do with that?

Jason's laughter trails off into an occasional chuckle as he channel surfs. Tim sighs inwardly and curls up next to him, Junior tucking himself up against his chest making happy duckling sounds.

“Fucking adorable, baby bird,” Jason says quietly, scratching Tim's ears. Tim doesn't know who Jason's talking to, but it doesn't really matter. Tim keeps an eye on Jason and Junior, not surprised when Jason yawns , head drooping. Junior's already asleep, head tucked under his wing. 

Eventually Dick creeps back into the room, Damian held against his chest. It's not so much Bat-trained stealth as something out of a bad spy movie, all exaggerated movement and ducking behind cover that has Jason rolling his eyes. 

Tim opens one eye when Dick sits down next to them on the couch, slouching down with Damian on his chest to watch truly some truly godawful reality show. Jason grumbles, mostly for show, but he's moments away from falling asleep. Dick has a soft smile on his face, _happy_ , Tim realizes, and. And, _yes_. For all the craziness that's gotten them here, this isn't so bad.


	9. What Grounds You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think you traumatized him."
> 
> Not funny. "Not funny, Jason," Tim mutters, peering under the couch where Junior scurried off to when Tim went from being a cat to human, and maybe, yes, Jason has a point if Junior's frantic quacking was any indication.

"I think you traumatized him."

Not funny. "Not funny, Jason," Tim mutters, peering under the couch where Junior scurried off to when Tim went from being a cat to human, and maybe, yes, Jason has a point if Junior's frantic quacking was any indication.

"Oh, I don't know," Jason drawls, clearly enjoying Junior's distress because he is a terrible human being and a horrible father figure to Junior. "From where I'm sitting it's _hilarious_. There's a pause. "Wouldn't you say so, brat?"

"Drake, you disgust me."

Tim sighs, because Damian. "Is there a particular reason, or is it a general sort of disgust?" Because really, pretty much everything disgusts Damian on some level. More so if it has something to do with Tim himself.

Pointed, annoyed silence. "You should release that beast to the wild, let nature take its course."

Tim and Jason both look at Damian at that. "He's a _duckling_ , Damian." Tim says slowly, hoping his expression tells Damian just what he thinks about Damian's idea. 

Damian's expression tells Tim he clearly thinks Tim is an idiot. 

"Shut up, brat, we're not tossing Junior out on his ass," Jason snaps, which. Hmm.

"He's a duckling, Damian," Tim tries again, striving for patience. "If we let him go without a parent to look after him he won't survive for long." 

Damian snorts, crosses his arms. "A tragedy, I'm sure."

Jason growls, starting to come off the coffee table he's perched on, and that won't end well, so. Tim shoots Jason a look, _think of Junior_ , and turns to Damian. "Did you actually want something, Damian, or are you just here to spread happiness and joy in your own special way?" 

Damian scowls. "Pennyworth has requested your presence at dinner tomorrow night, and Grayson insists." Damian sniffs. "Father would, for some reason, also like both of you to attend." 

There's brief pause in which Damian's expression shifts from haughty to annoyed to slightly bewildered. "...I believe that I would not find limited exposure to you seriously detrimental to my being." And then he sweeps out of the apartment, leaving Tim and Jason staring after him.

"Huh." Jason finally says. "That was almost nice."

Tim rolls his eyes because _Damian_ , but. "Help me get Junior out from under the couch or I'm making you wear a suit."

Jason glowers, but gets down to help coax Junior out. It involves bribery of the highest sort (bread crusts they saved for him), but eventually Junior squeezes out of his hiding spot. He eyes Tim warily for several minutes, but the lure of food proves to be too great and is demanding more _nownownow_ from Tim. 

When he's finally satisfied, stuffed to bursting, Junior takes to trailing after Tim the same way he did when Tim was a cat, and Tim. Tim doesn't even pretend not to be relived by that.

"So, Junior."

Tim looks at Jason, eyebrow quirked. Junior, somewhere by his feet, quacks a little angrily. "What about him?" Tim asks.

Jason's gaze darts down to Junior and back to Tim's face. "...Nothing."

Tim sighs. "You know he loves you too, right?" And no, this isn't the most ridiculous thing Tim's done in his life. It doesn't even rate in the top ten. He makes use of the poker face he worked hard for as he says, "Junior has two daddies, Jason." 

And, _oh_ , the look on Jason's face. 

(In the interest of full disclosure, Junior also has several aunts and uncles of varying temperaments and degrees of sanity. A grandfather who dresses up like a bat, and a great-grandfather who thinks they're all utterly ridiculous and more than a bit on the unbalanced side of things - but loves them dearly anyway.)

Jason's eyes narrow. "I - "

"Don't make Junior cry, Jason," Tim says, losing the fight against the smile fighting to make an appearance. 

Jason snorts, looking away, but Tim sees the edges of the smile on his face. 

"You get to explain Junior to Bruce," Jason says after a moment, looking down at the duckling as Junior pecks at his ankles.

"Okay," Tim says. 

He can absolutely handle explaining to Bruce why the two of them are raising a duckling together. That doesn't sound crazy at all compared to everything else that's happened to them in the past, and no doubt will in the future. 

Jason shakes his head, like he can't actually believe this - everything - is happening, and crouches down to pick Junior up. "Definitely takes after you," Jason says, when Junior makes a go at Jason's eyes, tiny and angry, quacking up a storm. "Mouthy little brat."

Tim rolls his eyes. "He's got your temper." Well, no, Junior has both of their tempers, and. That's probably not a healthy train of thought to be having. Ever.

Jason seems to realize it too because he laughs. "Fucking Gotham."

Which. Not Gotham so much as the general sort of weirdness in their lives. And also, Dick, who basically started the latest round of craziness wasn't even _in_ Gotham when he ran into the magic-user, but. As good an explanation – excuse? - as any, really.


End file.
